I'm not going to lie. It was really cool using my press pass to 'cut' in front of the line of people that was already forming outside the Idaho Center on opening night of the Stampede. I just showed the laminated card that was hanging around my neck, and the side doors opened... and voila! I was in the arena. It was like magic.
I came upon what could only be described as the calm before the storm. The Concessions People were grouped for one last pow-wow on how to handle the impending crowd. I saw my friends in the green aprons; the now-familiar 4-H gang. Heavenly scents hung in the air...glazed and roasted almonds among them; a long-time favorite of mine.
A group of people were seated on the floor, just beyond the entrance, a pile of Stampede booklets near them. They'd soon be on their feet for quite a while, and they were enjoying this brief reprieve. They were from a sorority that volunteered in the community, like so many of the other people milling about, getting ready for the throngs. The gates were going to open soon.
I walked into the humongous arena, and I could smell the dirt just a little bit. How many tons had they hauled in for this? That was another question for the Stampede people. Dirt trivia.
As the people began to file in, I noticed to my dismay that there was the Governor of Idaho again, in jeans and hat. I'd embarrassed myself last Saturday at the parade by blurting out, "Hi Butch", as he'd ridden by on his horse. I had not meant to call the Governor by his first name. The sun must've been getting to me that morning. A couple of days later I'd seen him and found the nerve to apologize, and he'd graciously 'pardoned' me. But I wasn't going to take my chances this time by saying something else that was equally 'brilliant'...so I walked the other way. No offense, Mr. Governor.
Before I knew it, I'd spotted my 'media' party, and we'd been invited on a 'behind the scenes tour' by our host, Jeff Agenbroad. We walked back out of the arena, down the long concessions hallway, past a helpful Stampede worker who saw my questioning gaze and said, " Oh,the restrooms are right over there." I told him I was actually taking a tour, but that the restrooms would be my next stop, and thanked him for directing me. Very helpful.
Long, broad hallways for almost as far as the eye could see, down on the lower, lower level. Out one door and through the next was the way to get to the LifeFlight helicopter, should anyone ever need it. Jeff said that in the thirteen years they've been at the Idaho Center, they've only needed it once. But it's there if ever they should need it again.
We passed the common area where the cowboys were preparing for their next ride. They were a relaxed bunch; chilling out before they had to perform again. A bit of talking between themselves here and there, but not much. Jeff Agenbroad explained that this hadn't been their first rodeo this week; most of them go from one rodeo to the next during the entire month of July, a month they call 'Cowboy Christmas'.
We walked outside and saw the bucking horses and the bulls. One of them, a white-ish colored bull, had some pink hairspray across his shoulders and neck. He was the revered Tough Enough For Pink Bull, to be seen on Wednesday Night, the Stampede for the Cure Night. The proceeds go toward helping women in this Valley get mammograms, even if they cannot afford it. I would not question whether this bull was tough; he obviously was.
The Justin sports medicine trailer was parked nearby, and it was a busy place on the inside. Cowboys lying on padded benches, nursing knees and ankles with ice packs. The white wrapping tape was visible on almost all of them there. Everyone had an injury. Jeff said in this business, it's not a matter of 'if', it's a matter of 'when'. It is a given that you are going to get hurt. Justin supports the rodeo by donating the trailer, the staff, and the supplies. Pretty big of them.
We walked back into the arena through another entrance and suddenly there we were; the coveted 'behind-the-chute' location. I instantly knew I'd worn the wrong shoes, because my back heel kept falling into the slots of the metal stairs, while climbing up the stand overlooking the chute. This being right near the chute business was too cool; but my shoes were going to make me stumble in front of this crowd; which was not too cool. I removed them. Immediately I looked up and a few cowpersons were watching me with what appeared to be a new respect.
"That must be similar to walking on glass," they commented. I was standing on the bumpy, corrugated, slatted bars of steel.
"It is," I said calmly, very uncomfortable but wanting them to see that even a 'townie' like me had a little 'tough' in her. That was a great moment. As soon as they looked away, I quickly got off the stand.
They opened with mutton busting, which is basically this: a little kid with a helmet on tries to ride a sheep for several seconds. This is beyond hard to do. They are, however, cheered on by the thousands that are in the stands, and that's heartwarming. One five-year-old girl decided that maybe this wasn't her year. The crowd gave her a huge cheer anyway. Again, that community thing.
Jeff introduced us to the man who was in charge of the sheep for the mutton busting. I believe he was one of the Cervi brothers, but it was too loud in the arena for me to hear his name for sure... however I found him to be humorous.
"You know that smell that sheep have? It doesn't wash off." He told us. I suddenly remembered my husband saying that those workers that help to load wool said their hands were soft as could be for the next week thereafter. Ahhh, lanolin.
We got seated close to the famous dirt. So grateful to the Stampede Association for the good seats they gave us, in exchange for our reporting duties. I noticed right off that we were going to get dirt clods flipped at us. As the riders ran by, carrying the flags of all of the sponsors, one flew up and hit the wall behind me, bounced off that and hit me on the back of the head. I loved it. Others around me were not so thrilled. I said, "What, you don't want to get hit by the dirt?" The next time it flew, I exclaimed, "Yes! DIRT!" and the reply, "I only HOPE it's dirt!" made me laugh out loud.
I actually liked the dirt. It enhanced the experience. A dirt-spattered pair of jeans after the rodeo was like a badge or something. Secretly, I was hoping to take a little of it home; it was, after all, historic dirt from the Oregon Trail. The Stampede people may keep their dirt in a vault at the end of the rodeo...but maybe not all of it!
They announced the Mayor, who was atop a horse far down the arena from us. I laughed as I thought, "It's the Mayor on a mare." But really I was too far away to tell if it was a mare. It was a gorgeous horse. And our Mayor, Tom Dale, has mentored my children in golf; not a bad guy, in my book.
A band played the 'Snake River Stampede' Theme song, and we were officially underway. You have to be careful with this song...it's catchy and you'll find yourself still singing it a week from Sunday. I knew every word of it now, my favorite part being 'under the Idaho moon.'
Then, the moment I'd been waiting for: The glorious Stampeders, the brain-child of my friend, Jimmie Hurley. I'd been to their practice, I'd learned all about them, I knew a few of them personally...but I'd never seen them perform in all of their luminous glory. The lights were dimmed in the arena, and one lone rider came out, carrying a large American flag, with the spotlight on Old Glory. The announcer gave a moving speech on the freedom we enjoy, and those that have fought to preserve that. How lucky we are that our daughters can choose what they wear, and who they want to be. The liberty that must be maintained, and the respect we ought to show for the flag and all it stands for. And just as we had all developed large lumps in our throats...the Star Spangled Banner was sung.
Then...the rest of the Stampeders came racing out into the arena, lighted in red and white. The horses' hooves lit up when they hit the earth, like little kids' lighted shoes. It was like nothing I'd ever seen. I could hear Jimmie's voice in my ears, saying, "I just dream, that's what I do" and seeing the fruition of her dreams right in front of me. I heard Leslie Todd's voice once again, like I'd heard at that practice, telling the girls to get just as close to those walls as they possibly could. I literally could have reached out and touched them, they were that close. Their spacing was perfect, their timing impeccable. And all in the virtual dark. You need to see this to believe it.
Before we knew it, the lights were up, and it was time to start the rodeo-ing.
The first thing I noticed was a bronc that wouldn't be rounded up after his ride. The announcers, Bob Tallman and Boyd Polhalmus, had fun with this. As the bronc avoided the gate, they said things like:
"It's like trying to get Bret Favre to retire..." or "It's like trying to get Rosie O' Donnell to leave the View...."
I learned something new about myself as I watched. I knew of my strange habit of laughing uncontrollably on certain carnival rides. What I did not know was that when I watch someone being bucked around on a bronc, the inadvertent words, "Wow. Wow. Wow," escape my lips...and I can do nothing about it.
I found the expressions on the faces of the riders to be interesting; a mixture of complete concentration, perhaps some fear, and what can only be described as, "Wheee!" Although I found myself being very concerned over those riders, I realized that they were probably having the time of their lives, and began to relax. They wouldn't do it for years and years if they hated it. Besides, some of these riders were making it look like a dance or something, they were so good at what they did.
The names of the bucking horses were colorful; names like 'Angel Dust' and 'Hustlin' Lady'. I wondered what the stories were behind the names, but then quickly retracted that thought. Some things are just plain better left a mystery.
I noticed Dave Tester, the former TV sportscaster from years ago, set up at a table beside us. I'd heard that he'd gone to radio. No sooner had I had that thought, than he said into his mike, "Rodeo on the Radio." I thought that was clever.
The announcers were really quite good. There wasn't one quiet moment of wasted air, except to allow room for applause. If the audience didn't applaud when they thought we should, they'd repeat what they'd said again for us to 'get it'.
"We said, he's from IDAHO!" And the crowd would oblige with cheering and applause, finally.
They especially liked to give one of the clowns, Radical Rudy Rodriguez, a hard time. When Rudy said he wanted to be introduced to a pretty blond, the announcers told him, "You've already got a family!....And you've wrecked three others!"
When a rider was from Utah, one of them said, "I like Utah. I also like iced tea." (Giving Utah a gentle jab on behalf of their non-tea drinkers.)
They were nice to the ropers, too. I respected that. Instead of the terrible phrase, "No time," they'd call them 'No catch 'um's."
When the both the announcers and the audience didn't exactly love the judges' scoring for a rider, they said, "You guys make Simon Cowell look good!"
One of their antics really got us. They asked for everyone to cheer that was over forty. Not many did. Hey, being over forty isn't always that fun. Then they asked for those under thirty to cheer. I cheered, and got a stern look from my husband because for one thing he knew I was lying, and for another it made him look like a cradle robber. When they asked for those under twenty to cheer again, of course I cheered again. I'm not even going to describe the look I got that time. But to those under twenty, they had a special message. It was:
"Pull your pants up!"
As we all cracked up, thinking of our favorite youngster with baggy jeans, or that girl with the mega-hip-huggers, the one announcer added:
"Yeah, we're not s'posed to see that stuff till we marry ya!"
When there was an intermission, a shiny new Ford pickup truck was driven out onto the dirt. They did a really nice promo for them. It went something like this:
"Can I just say something for a minute? They didn't take any money from the Government. They just kept selling! GOD BLESS FORD!" And then they added, "If you don't have one, GET ONE."
The variety of events made it impossible to get bored with the program, mixing up already-exciting events couldn't help but to keep the attention of the spectators. But they didn't mix up the bull riding. They saved it for the very last.
I watched the clowns, often getting just inches from the bull's hooves. 'Rad Rudy' stood balanced over a barrel, wiggling his backside. One of the bulls got under another clown and lifted with his horns, throwing the man into the air. The clown, already wrapped with white sports tape in places, went off limping. These guys are themselves professional bullfighters and are certainly heroes in their own right.
The comments that were made regarding the bulls were things like, "A phenomenal bloodline" and "Got some amazing genetics happening..."
There was one bull I'll never forget. I big, black-ish colored one. I'm not sure of the name, but I myself might dub him something like 'Spawn of Satan'. He chased everything in the arena, knocked over and attacked the clown barrel, and attacked once again for good measure on the way out. He was a mean critter.
At the end of the evening, a herd of horses were let into the once again darkened arena...dozens of mares with their colts. The announcers told us that the Cervi Rodeo, who were the livestock contractors, were, after all, all about family...as is everything. They explained that there were some who were of the school of thought that rodeo stock are abused and treated poorly, but that each of them had wonderful lives where they got the finest of care...and most of them only worked for about eight seconds a day, doing what they were born to do; run, kick and buck. They'd come from a long line of high-spirited animals, and that high-spirit had been passed down through the bloodlines, just as we might wear our grandmother's smile, or our father's hair color.
Doing what they were born to do. I thought about that a lot. Isn't that what we all want out of this life?
The announcers went on to say that these horses' children would be able to perform for our children and grandchildren, and the tradition would continue. I hoped that was the case. I hoped that my children and grandchildren would keep going to the rodeo, whether I was around to take them or not.
The horses exited, and we heard again the Snake River Stampede theme. The Stampeders went racing by, holding the flags of the many sponsors. And just like that; the Snake River Stampede was over.
Until tomorrow night, that is.
The Stampede is here.
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